


Reprieve

by dadmilkman



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6046396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadmilkman/pseuds/dadmilkman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fenris…” Hawke breathed, glad he could finally say his name in full. “…isn't dead…” Fenris chuckled, a sad look in his eyes, but still smiled nonetheless. </p><p>“A day ago, I could hardly say the same for you.” His tone was soft and gentle, still rough and deep like always but now it was weak with concern and oh, Maker, how Hawke had missed his voice. “But no… neither of us are dead.”</p><p>Hawke almost gets himself eaten by a High Dragon and Fenris is understandably upset by this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to part of a chapter from this story http://archiveofourown.org/works/6014751/chapters/13841563 but I decided I liked it better as a stand alone thing. Also that fucking Dragon in the Mine Massacre is so hard?? I play the game on Hard mode for everything else and even when I set it to casual that dragon still kicks my ass. I'm so upset.

With slow and bleary determination, Hawke opened his eyes. Maker take him, the pain in his head was enough for him wish someone would remove it. In vivid clarity he remembered the last bit of consciousness he’d had while fighting a High Dragon, of all bloody things. Hubert’s idea of “scouting” the dangers a the Bone Pit had let them straight into the home of a dragon that rivaled even the Witch of the Wilds. At the first second of battle, things seemed to go in their favor. The dragon faltered when four attacks hit it at once, but then immediately retreated and allowed the baby dragonlings to take charge. That’s where things went wrong. Well, more wrong than they had already been going. They were outnumbered six to one. Hawke had Fenris at his back to shroud them both in a protective healing aura. Anders and Aveline stood a few hundred feet away, swarmed on all sides. The dragonlings weren’t strong or even adept, but there were so many of them that as soon as one was struck down another two would take its place.  
  
Fenris threw Hawke a cautionary glance, knowing things were not going to end well. By sheer determination alone they managed to stave off the last of the dragonlings. Being territorial, the High Dragon was unlikely to chase them past the clearing if they managed to escape. They took this small hope and, as soon as the last dragonling fell, bolted for the exit. The High Dragon watched them run, and in that moment they realized how outmatched they were. Fighting a High Dragon? Were they all crazy? This was nothing like the one they had faced in the Deep Roads. There, the clearing was miniscule in comparison, the dragon had no room for flight and its number of dragonlings was smaller. Here though, they had stumbled straight into the dragon's own domain. What a terrible day this was turning out to be. Hawke reached the neck of the clearing first and stopped to usher the others past. For a minimal, breathtaking second, they thought they were finally out of danger.  
  
Then the dragon lurched forward, charging towards them with its teeth bared. Hawke raised his staff to throw up his strongest defensive shield but the dragon barreled right towards them. With a deep guttural growl, it sent a lick of flames through his magic as if it were made of paper. For barely a second Hawke felt an agonizing surge of heat, and then his vision went black.  
  
He had no idea what had happened to everyone else. At the moment, he couldn’t even wrap his head around the concept that he was still alive. For all the light in his eyes he thought maybe he had finally gone to the Makers side. Although arriving at the pearly gates with a blazing headache seemed a little unceremonious.  
  
Hawke heard someone stir beside him and a hushed whisper in the distance. A hand touched his arm, and then his face. He didn’t realize how much every other part of his body ached until he tried to move, and then dismissed the idea as impossible. He still couldn’t see. His brain seemed to roll from side to side in his skull, his vision going black after hardly a second’s glance at the wall. He caught a glimpse of fire in a hearth and shadow sitting in a chair warming their hands.  
  
Someone near him spoke but he wasn’t coherent enough to make out the words. A cool hand touched his forehead, and he realized he was covered in a sheen of sweat. His senses came back one by one, his vision returning to him first. He was afraid to open his eyes again, content with staring at the darkness behind his lids. But slowly he peeled them open, and his gaze fell on the figure to his left.  
  
Ah, so Fenris wasn’t dead. Thank the Maker, there was one companion's safety in check. Aveline and Anders were a different matter. Although he supposed the fact that he was still alive at all had to be Anders work. Fenris spoke, but Hawke couldn’t hear him, just watched his lips move without speaking. He wished he could read lips like Fenris could, he wanted to know what he was saying. There was an annoying ringing in his ears that drowned everything out, including most of his thoughts. When Hawke didn’t respond, Fenris touched his face. So, his was the hand he had felt earlier. Fenris' cold palm was nice against Hawke’s too-warm skin, and Hawke finally met his eyes.  
  
Worry, of course, was plain. Plenty of fear. Even a bit of anger, maybe. Hawke immediately wanted to apologize for making Fenris worry so, but all that came out was a pained moan when he tried to speak. Then immediately his senses returned to him. His body screamed from the inside, lungs dragging each breath in and out of his chest. His middle felt like someone had punched their fist through it and left a gaping hole, as if looking down he might see his own organs hanging loose. They better be, for all the agony he was in now. His skin was clammy and feverish, and his bones ached down to his very fingers and toes. What in the Void had happened? Had they given him a new bloody skeleton? His skin felt loose and slippery on his frame, like it would fall off if he moved. That wasn’t exactly an issue, since the small tasks of breathing on his own and blinking every few seconds were agony enough.  
  
Someone else came to his side, another figure he recognized. Anders. He pressed his hands to Hawke’s neck, feeling for his pulse and counting the beats to himself. Anders’ hands were warm, much warmer than Fenris’. A throb in his head as his headache peaked made him close his eyes as he went limp. He thought he was going to pass out yet again from the pain of it all. He felt a warm hand on his chest, and the slow, healing burn of magic against his skin. That had to be Anders again, warm hands and what not. He willed himself to stay conscious, not wanting to sleep again for fear he might not wake up. After a few moments, the warmth on his chest receded and he opened his eyes. Fenris was still there, Maker bless him, and Anders had turned towards a table where he was fussing over a few poultices and bottles. Healing salves and remedies, no doubt. Most of them empty. He wondered how many they’d gone through already trying to save him.  
  
Hawke let Anders tip something tasteless and cold into his mouth, nearly choking as he coughed. His lungs didn’t seem to quite yet know what was air and what wasn’t. The scorch of ice that ran through his throat was terrible, but soothed once the medication started taking effect. He hoped it wouldn’t make him sleep. He didn’t want to sleep anymore. Anders glanced at Fenris’ worried face, and Fenris glanced back. They shared a look that might have been hopeful, or just as easily fearful, and then Anders nodded.  
  
Hawke realized that Fenris still hadn’t removed his hand, cold fingers pressing against Hawke’s cheek and neck, thumb against the corner of his lips. Hawke exhaled as much of a sigh as his body would allowed, and then again tried to speak.  
  
“Fen…” It came out a fraction clearer this time, an actual word rather than a noise of pain. Rather, part of a word, at least. Better than before. He was trying to say Fenris’ name, to catch his attention and draw his eyes away from whatever he was looking at with such sadness. Fenris picked up on the half spoken word - his name - and met Hawke’s eyes. It was too much to dare trying to move any more than small amounts. He opted for flexing one part of his body at a time. He started with his fingers, which ached and popped as they bent at the joints, as if they’d lain unused for years like a dusty corpse. Fenris removed his touch from Hawke’s face, taking one of his hands. He massaged his knuckles and the back of his palm, rubbing circles into his wrist. It hurt at first, but not enough that he wanted Fenris to withdraw his grasp. Much to his relief, his aching bones soon settled and he regained control of his hand enough to gently squeeze Fenris’ fingers. It was as much of a hug as he could muster at the moment.  
  
Hawke smiled, but felt a tug deep in his chest. He realized maybe the serum Anders had given him was going to make him sleep after all. He didn’t want to sleep again, not if it meant going through that tiring process every time he woke. But he was tired, so tired, his body aching with the weight of a thousand battles, as if every fight they’d ever fought happened in the last day and he was just now recovering. His eyes closed against his will, and he felt his hand slack against the cold fingers still touching his palm. Such nice hands Fenris had.

 

//

 

Again he awoke, and cursed the Maker. He didn’t ache so much as he had before, but everything still hurt. He was able to open his eyes with minimal pounding in his head, and he could stretch his arms and legs. Standing would be a problem, but it was a start. He was a little disappointed that Fenris’ cool touch wasn’t there to sooth his pain, but when a brush of wind lifted the hairs on his scalp he realized he was cold. He shivered into the blanket against his skin, grasping it with one hand as if he had the strength to draw it closer. His noise riled someone sitting in a chair by the fire, and Hawke was unsurprised to discover it was Fenris after all.  
  
“Hawke,” he said, and Hawke had never been so glad to hear his own name. He sighed as Fenris slipped a hand against his. Fenris’ hands weren’t cold anymore, on the contrary, they were as warm as Anders had been. Hawke thought maybe a fever heat had made them seem cold by comparison. “Hawke,” he said again, as if limited to a one word vocabulary.  
  
Hawke tried to speak, glad when the task didn’t leave his throat a raw husk.  
  
“Fenris…” he breathed, glad he could finally say his name in full. “…isn't dead... " Fenris had a sad look in his eyes, but he smiled anyway.   
  
“A day ago, I could hardly say the same for you.” His tone was soft and gentle, still rough and deep like always but now it was weak with concern and Maker take him, how Hawke had missed his voice. “But no… neither of us are dead.”  
  
Hawke considered asking for the details of the story, wondering how long he’d been sleeping or the extent of his injuries. Or if, Maker forbid, someone had died. He still did not know Aveline’s condition. For the most part he was certain seeing Anders before hadn’t been a dream. And he was more certain that he wasn’t dreaming now as he looked into Fenris’ eyes. Unless he was already dead, and this was a dream. He couldn't tell.  
  
“... Aveline?” He said weakly, knowing Fenris would understand his fragment of a question.  
  
“No,” Fenris replied. “Aveline is fine as well. Of the four of us, you were the closest to death. You should be more worried about yourself.”  
  
Hawke wanted to reply with some witty joke but hadn’t the brain capacity to think of anything. Instead he spoke his next concern, feeling the chill of what he assumed was the morning breeze through the window on his face.  
  
“... cold…” he said. It was simple enough, but Fenris nodded.  
  
“I’ll fetch some spare blankets,” he said, making to remove his hand from Hawke’s. But Hawke tightened his grip and willed him stay, knowing he didn’t have the strength to keep Fenris in place with his grasp alone.  
  
“... stay…” he whispered, and Fenris paused. “I… need you.” Fenris leaned forward to touch Hawke’s brow with those warm fingers, brushing the hair from his face.  
  
“Stay...” Hawke repeated, hoping he understood his request. The last thing he wanted right now was for Fenris to leave. He longed for his warm embrace and gentle touch. He was so warm. Hawke’s voice was coming back to him, and he willed the desire for Fenris’ company into his words. “...I need you… here.”  
  
“I am here,” he said, a simple response, and nodded in what Hawke hoped was genuine understanding. He was wearing little armor, but he let the rest slip to the floor, and Hawke heard the faint clatter of metal against the tiles. Gently, as gently as he could, Fenris lifted himself up to crawl into the bed beside Hawke. Hawke sighed in relief when Fenris’ warm body came in contact with his. Still too weak to move more than necessary, he allowed Fenris to guide himself under the blanket, touching a hand to Hawke’s middle and relishing as Hawke hummed in relief. Hawke didn’t move, and they lie in a sort of awkward half-embrace. Fenris sidled towards Hawke’s torso and he ignored the ache in his bones and his skin as Fenris shifted against him.  
  
They remained still for a few moments, Hawke allowing himself to become more comfortable with how Fenris’ slight frame fit against his. Fenris was no small man, but compared the broad expanse of Hawke’s build, Fenris fit quite nicely. Hawke was lying on his back but oh, how desperately he wanted to roll to his side and pull Fenris into his arms. Of course, even if he had the strength to move he would have resisted the desire. He was surprised how readily Fenris had understood and agreed to Hawke’s request. They had never been this intimate before now, and although they were simply lying together in bed in the cold of morning, the thought was jarring. He made a mental note to ask later if it was just because Fenris felt pity for him, being on the brink of death and all. He didn’t want Fenris to feel forced to comfort him like this if he didn’t want too. But Hawke wasn’t exactly complaining as Fenris’ hands deftly traced their lithe fingers against his skin. Hawke’s sigh of contentment was more audible than he anticipated.  
  
“If all you need is a personal body heater,” Fenris said. "I could call your hound.”  
  
Hawke squeezed Fenris’ arm as much as his strength would allow. “I want you,” he said.  
  
“Ah. Good to know I am preferable over the beast.” Hawke knew Fenris was joking but didn’t have the energy to come with anything good in reply. “Any time,” he said. Hawke felt Fenris shudder against him as he laughed. Hawke counted it a small victory.  
  
“Are you alright?” Hawke asked.  
  
“Oh, yes,” Fenris replied, and his voice was bitter and dripping with heavy sarcasm. “I’m perfectly content. Watching you fall so close to death’s grasp was easy. The constant fret that I would touch your face and your skin would be cold with death… lovely …”  
  
It had started off as a bit of a joke, but had quickly spiraled in a direction Hawke hadn’t anticipated. Although, he wasn’t exactly sure what he had been expecting when he asked. He didn’t have enough energy to put more thought into his words.    
  
“I’m sorry,” Hawke said in earnest. But Fenris made a small scoff of protest, saying, “You are an egregious fool.”  
  
Hawke didn’t reply, part for not knowing what to say to put Fenris’ mind at ease and part because he was too tired to speak. He didn’t want to sleep again, he felt like he’d been sleeping for days - which, as the case may be, might have been true. So many questions lingered on the edge of his tongue, but for now nothing was quite as important as Hawke’s health, and Fenris’ safety. Hawke had been sincere in apologizing. He hated making Fenris worry, and considering he was so quick to pessimism it wasn’t hard to do. Hawke remained silent. It was enough for him, he supposed, that Fenris was here.  
  
Fenris fell asleep first, warm breath fanning across Hawke’s neck. That was a clear statement to how little he had slept in the past few …days? How long had Hawke been asleep for? He wondered if Fenris hadn’t been running himself into the ground with worry, but that was almost too much to hope for. As Hawke succumbed to the tiredness in his eyes, he felt the comforting weight of another layer of blankets lowered over them both. He could have sworn he saw a head of dirty blonde hair leaving the room.

 

//

 

For the third time, and what he hoped was the final time in this string of unpleasant mornings, Hawke awoke. He felt much better than before, better being a relative term. He could move his arms and legs with ease and the pounding in his head was gone. Flexing his hands he noticed they felt a bit strange and with a jolt, he realized that some of his fingers ended a knuckle short. Well, that was certainly new. How that had passed without his notice was beyond him, but then again, the stupor of pain he was trapped in before had been quite distracting.  
  
The room was dark, the dying flames of the hearth sputtering from across the room. Fenris was still at his side, so he assumed it had been only a few hours since they had fallen asleep. But he was already awake, and met Hawke’s eyes when Hawke started to stir.  
  
“Maker,” he said. When Fenris gave him an incredulous look, he continued. “I very much like waking up with you beside me.”  
  
“Save your claptrap for when I’m not here,” a voice behind them said. Hawke dared attempt to sit up and was pleased to find he could prop up on one arm. Fenris gave him a worried look as he winced in pain, but Hawke shook his head.  
  
“Ah, and the corpse finally rises,” the voice said again. But now Hawke could see it was Anders standing in the far corner of the room, gathering the empty poultice bottles in a pile. His hair was stuck in all directions as if he’d been running his hands through it all night.    
  
“Anders,” Hawke said with clear relief. Bracing his back against the wall, he lifted his hands in front of him to finally take a look at the damage. He was correct before, in assuming he was missing some digits. Two fingers on his left hand and one on his right ended after the first knuckle. More distracting was the faint pattern of criss-crossed scars that extended from his palms. They wound, snake-like, down his arms, and he assumed continued to cover his shoulders and chest. The skin beneath them looked like it had been patched together with sloppy craftsmanship, thick lines of scar tissue traveling and intersecting like veins. Out of morbid curiosity he swiped a hand across his arm and felt that his skin was dry and cracked like cured parchment. Hawke balled his hands into fists and Fenris touched his arm.    
  
He knew he had been burned by the dragon’s flames. It was the last thing he remembered seeing, the roaring white heat hurtling towards him as he readied for impact. He hadn’t given it much more thought than that, than the fact that he was injured. It must have been much worse than he imagined.  
  
Not knowing what else to say, he went with the most obvious question on his mind. “What happened?”  
  
Anders shook his head as if this were a foolish question. It was, Hawke knew. He had almost died. The fact hadn’t hit him this hard until now.  
  
“We were almost out of the clearing…”  Anders explained. Hawke listened distantly as Anders walked him through the events, but Fenris wasn’t paying him any mind. He was already reliving the events in his thoughts, he had no desire to experience them again. Hawke came closer to death than any of them had ever been. And they’d all had some close calls.  
  
Fenris remembered calling Hawke’s name from where he landed on the sand. The defensive barrier that Hawke had thrown up at the last minute tossed them all back by more than ten feet, and yet still barely out of line of the dragons reach. Fenris watched in horror as the full force of the flames engulfed him. Hawke didn’t even scream as he crumpled to the ground. Fenris was terrified he might already dead.  
  
As if satisfied with it’s work, the dragon mercifully decided to flee. Anders moved first, throwing out a forceful blast of cold air and snow that doused the flames. Hawke’s robes and strappings were reduced to ash, his staff a pile of dust at his side. Fenris and Aveline scrambled to their feet and collapsed beside Hawke, not daring to touch him.  
  
He had seen burn victims before. Burning had been one of Danarius’ favorite torture methods, and a skill he took great pride in. Slaves and hostages being cattled back to their quarters after interrogation or experiments. But this… this was worse than what he had ever seen. Hawke’s entire torso was blistered and raw, heat still pouring off his body. His arms had taken the worse of the damage, blackened. and streaked with scorch marks. His hands folded in on themselves and oh, Maker, Fenris thought could see the tips of bones jutting out of the ends of his fingers. He tried not to vomit as he spoke.  
  
“Fix him, now,” He said, trying to hide the worry in his voice with anger. He hadn’t been looking at the abomination, but of course Anders knew who it was directed towards. None of them could peel their eyes off of Hawke’s scorched body. Fenris had never seen something so… terrifying.  
  
“I don’t…” Anders said, struggling to remain standing. He propped himself up against his staff as he collected his bearings. He couldn't tell if he was out of breath from the fall, from the battle, or from the shock of it all.  
  
“I can’t…” he continued, falling to his knees in defeat. “I don’t… have enough mana… Fenris, I think… he’s already-”  
  
But before he could continue Fenris grasped at his clothes, clamping down on his arms in anger.  
  
“You must try!” He cried. Anders jerked back against the fearsome snarl that rode Fenris' words. “If you need more strength, use the lyrium from my markings. Do _something_ .”  
  
Again, Anders wasn’t given a moment to speak as Aveline knelt behind them and wrenched them apart.  
  
“Enough, Fenris,” she commanded. The tone she reserved for giving orders. “Anders, you are going to do everything you can.” She gave a sidelong glance at Hawke’s body between them. “Quickly.”  
  
Anders nodded, taking on the determined stare he used when healing a rather injured patient at his clinic. Although, whether any of them rivaled what he was about to attempt was something Fenris decidedly did not question. Anders pushed back his sleeves and placed his hesitant hands over Hawke’s chest. His eyes stared ahead without seeing, rolling ideas around in his head, trying to figure the best way to do this. In all his time as a mage, or as a Gray Warden, he had never needed to heal something so extensive. In the heat of battle, comrades this far gone were often left behind, as the effort to heal them would cost more than it was worth. Even small healing spells were exhausting, and even if he were at his full strength Anders wasn’t sure he would be successful. Using the lyrium from Fenris’ marking would help. Although he had to wonder whether he and Fenris might die in the process. Expending so much mana wasn’t only a drain on energy, it was a drain on one’s life force. With luck, using Fenris’ power, it would be enough to drag Hawke back from the brink of death. At least until they could return to Ander’s clinic and treat him properly. Maker, they had better get that far.  
  
“This will work,” he said to himself, and the green glow of magic erupted from his palms.

 

//

 

Anders had exhausted the last of his mana and pulled as much power from Fenris’ lyrium as he could, and still Hawke didn’t wake. The most he could say was that Hawke wasn’t dead. Between the two of them, with Aveline taking the lead to scout, they managed to haul Hawke back to the clinic. He spent a day and a half in one of the empty cots before Anders declared he was finally, thankfully, stable enough to be moved home. Fenris protested, saying Hawke needed to stay close to the abomination, as much as admitting this displeased him. He didn’t want Hawke to be in danger if Anders wasn’t around. But Anders convinced him that he needed the cot for his other patients. Not to mention, Anders had been sure to mention, that Fenris was scaring everyone in the room. Fenris would have given him a deck in the face if he wasn’t so tired.  
  
Once Hawke was home, Fenris didn’t leave the estate while he slept. Anders visited every few hours, slipping in through the back door that led from his clinic up to the estate in Hightown. Aveline had left as soon as they’d all arrived, saying something about being strung up by her ankles if she didn’t get back to the barracks. They’d promised to send word as soon as he awoke, and she left, for once not looking forward to an evening's hard work in her office.  
  
After a day of hardly moving, Fenris allowed Leandra to coax him downstairs for something to eat. He didn’t have the appetite for more than a few bites, but the tea she brewed put his unsettled stomach at ease. She gave his arm a gentle caress as he returned to Hawke’s quarters.  
  
“Thank you,” she said. Hawke had exactly his mother's eyes. “For watching over him.”  
  
For a time, he and Anders held a momentary truce. They agreed to disagree and put their hatred for each other behind them - at least for now - while they worried about Hawke. Anders decided to spend one night in the spare bedroom, but after a few hours came back and admitted he couldn’t sleep. They sat in silence on either side of Hawke's room, neither of them moving or speaking to one another. After a time of awkward and angry brooding, they both glanced towards the door as Aveline entered the room. Deftly, she joined in on their silence. Fenris wondered if she had scheduled her watch so that she was free to visit so late at night. None of them spoke, and in truth, none of them felt the need to converse. There was nothing much to say. It wasn't until early morning, when the sun started streaming through the windows and Hightown's bustle erupted outside, that someone spoke.  
  
“I suppose it’s only fair I ask how you are feeling,” Anders said. Fenris had been drifting in and out of sleep in his chair until Anders words in the eery brought him back.  
  
“I am well,” Fenris said. He had to think it was the weakest lie he’d ever told.  
  
“No, you’re not _well_ ,” Anders said with a huff, clearly mocking him. “You know, there are spells that drain people’s mana. It’s similar to what the templars use to temporarily break our connection to the fade. And it hurts. You want to tell me after I almost literally drained the life out of you that you’re _well_.”  
  
Fenris grunted in anger, hating how stubborn this man could be. Aveline kept her silence, watching the two of them bicker. For once, Fenris was glad she didn’t interrupt. He longed to hear what pitiful argument this man had to offer this time.  
  
“I am not a mage,” he said. “My lyrium markings do not work the same as mana does for mages.”  
  
Anders scoffed. “For all current intents, it’s the same thing. Mages use mana to cast spells. You draw energy from your lyrium markings. You are closer to being a mage than you realize.”  
  
Fenris gave him a glare that would have murdered passing children. “Do not toy with me, abomination.” Anders rolled his eyes at the insult. "Is there a point to this useless prattle?”  
  
“Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you. You’re an obvious exception to the general use of lyriums power, but in this case it works the same way. Stealing mana from someone else is the same as slowly killing them. Mana is connected to your life force - if someone drains your mana by force, they’re taking away your life energy. You don’t die, of course, otherwise every time a mage ran out of mana during battle they’d be dead. But it hurts. And it can kill you if someone goes too far. I was using the lyrium from your markings. This is a vague assumption, but I think your markings work the same way as mana does; they are connected to your life energy. Lyrium is a living thing, it reacts to a mage’s spiritual energy. The lyrium in your markings reacts to your life energy in the same way. When I used the lyrium from your markings as a source of mana to heal Hawke, I was… basically killing you. Slowly, mind you. But you could have died. We both could have died.”  
  
To an extent, Fenris knew this. Not to the degree that Anders had just revealed, but he know that his markings held the same raw power that a mage could draw from a flask of lyrium. He hadn’t even known if allowing the abomination to use his markings would work. It was a desperate measure. But the thought of this demon stealing away his life energy made his skin crawl. He had no doubts that Anders would have drained his life completely if he needed to.  
  
“I knew I was correct to think I should not trust you.” Fenris snarled. Anders didn’t respond, his eyes on Hawke’s sleeping form. Fenris wanted to reach forward and wrench his gaze away from Hawke’s face. Sniveling coward of a fool as he was, he didn’t deserve to look at Hawke this way. “How quickly would yoy have given up someone’s life to have something that you wanted. Are all mages so selfish?” Fenris was on his feet now, his anger propelling him forward.  
  
“That’s hardly justifiable,” Aveline said from her seat. It was the first she’d spoken since she’d arrived. “None of us wanted Hawke to die.”  
  
“That's not even the point. It was a risk I was willing to take,” Anders continued. Fenris glared at Aveline in a very I-told-you-so sort of way. “You asked me to fix him. No, Maker, even if you hadn’t asked me I would have saved him on my own. Would you have let me use your markings if you knew that you could have died in the process?”  
  
“Are you such a fool that you think you are the only one who feared for his safety?”  
  
“Is this serious?” Aveline asked with a shake of her head. “You are both debating one side of the same argument. Neither of you wanted Hawke to die, I think that is clear. Why are the both of you so determined to hate one another? At least in this, you had the same goal.” Both Fenris and Anders quelled at her comment. She was right, and they knew it. She stood, having had enough of them, and headed towards the door. "Enough bickering for one day. How in Maker’s name does Hawke take the both of you together anywhere.”  
  
The argument seemed to dissipate before it had reached it’s climax. As Aveline left, they resumed their shaken peace. Fenris didn't look in Anders direction, and Anders did the same. But in the silence, they seemed to realize what had gone unsaid.  
  
Either of them would have given their lives to save Hawke.


End file.
